


Outsiders

by Savva



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Drama & Romance, F/M, HP: EWE, POV Pansy Parkinson, POV Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin Lives, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:32:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8400061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savva/pseuds/Savva
Summary: The war is over, and everything is back to ... normal. Only, nothing really changed. Well, it did change for Pansy rather drastically, but for Remus - not so much. Those two are so different. Can they help each other cope?
 
   AU





	1. These Days

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my darlings. So... here is my new story. Hope you like it. Also, if you have any questions, I'm on tumblr - savvyshka.
> 
> Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Huge thank you to my beta AmyLouise and my britpicker Gemini Sister. ❤️

 

 

**Outsiders**

We've seen some change

But we're still outsiders

(The Outsiders/Frantz Ferdinand)

**I**

****

**_These Days_ **

****

Pansy opened her eyes right before the usual morning Howler appeared. The damned thing shrieked, “Wake up!” three times and burst into flames. She swore and sat up, shifting to the edge of her narrow bed. The ratty old blanket slipped from her shoulders, exposing her skin to the chilly air. Pansy shivered. A rotten, cracked window-frame didn’t keep the icy October wind from entering the room.

 

For a while she just sat there, rubbing her shoulders in a futile attempt to get rid of goosebumps and staring at the wall across from her. There was a patch where the paint was peeling, and in the dim light from a gaslamp outside it always reminded her of a flying hippogriff. It was the only thing in this Merlin-forgotten hole that could make her smile, though, rarely and only in a certain light. Today it did, and she grinned, not caring how idiotic it looked in her situation.

 

When she heard the chiming of a distant clock, she snapped out of her stupor and drew a slow breath. _Five_ _-_ _in_ _-_ _the_ _-_ _morning smell like shite_ , she thought, wrinkling her nose. She dragged herself from the bed and shuffled towards a slightly dented washbasin in the corner. She splashed her face, shivering from the cold water, and swore again. She hated cold water! Then she rinsed her mouth, and smoothed her short locks, looking at her reflection in a tarnished old mirror. Her morning routine was brief, since such luxuries as soap and toothpaste were just that – luxuries and therefore unattainable. She kept reminding herself that in Azkaban, there hadn't been any morning routine at all. Sometimes the thought cheered her up, and sometimes not so much. She hated a lot about her life these days, and at times it seemed that there was no reason to keep breathing with so much animosity in her heart. But her survival instinct was much stronger than her hatred, and so she went on, day after day after day.

 

Putting on her only robe and worn-out shoes, Pansy went downstairs, got the wooden stove going, and began working on the dough. She’d been living and working in this bakery for three months now. It wasn’t the best job, and there was no money, but at least it provided food and a roof over her head and food. It was better then nothing. Those first weeks after Azkaban, when she had been living on the streets, had been much, much worse. So, although she loathed working for a balding, burly, red-faced wizard, she kept quiet and did as she was told. It was hard to bite her tongue almost constantly, but eventually it had paid off: for the last two months, the owner had put her in charge of all morning preparations. It meant more work, but it also meant that she was alone in the morning. That suited her perfectly, since she felt better when no one was around to breathe into her ear or taunt her.

 

Of course, she did sometimes have the urge to poison the dough, but there were two problems with that. First, she didn’t have any poison, and second, she didn’t want to go back to Azkaban. Moreover, a Dementor's kiss wasn’t on her wishlist. The bloodcurdling screams of Lucius Malfoy were the most terrifying memory of her time in jail, though many other dreadful things had happened to her there. They haunted her no matter what she was doing. Not a day went by without her thinking about the way her parents had died, or about the hollow feeling that had settled in her chest when the guards had smashed her wand. She would have gladly forgotten all of it, if only for a little while, but the tattooed “33667” on her wrist wasn’t going to let her do that. Ever. The work, however, helped suppress those memories and kept her hands from doing something stupid.

 

Soon, it was warm in the kitchen, and Pansy was slowly kneading the dough. Of all the things she now had to do without a wand, working with the dough was her favourite. Who would have thought that she, a Slytherin princess, would ever find comfort in manual labour? But she did. It was better than cleaning the kitchen at the end of the day. Also, the dough was warm and felt almost alive under her fingers. She basked in its warmth and suppleness. The soothing process helped her forget the gloom that burdened her soul.

 

Closing her eyes, she let her fingers sink into the warm mass. With the low hum of the oven, and the smell of burning wood, she imagined herself being home on holidays. She could almost hear her mum’s rambling talk and see soft buns on the dinner table …

 

“Hello, beautiful.” A whisper near her ear cut short her reverie. Startled, she tried to turn round, but was immediately pinned to the table by a hard body. “Shh,” said a man behind her, putting his arms on both of her sides, making it impossible for her to move.

 

Recognising the voice of the baker’s son, Pansy snapped, “Let me go!” She’d seen the git once before, when she had started working in the bakery. She didn’t know much about him, only that he was a Quidditch player and looked like an utter sleazebag. “Let me go,” she said again, when she felt his nose behind her ear.

 

A low chuckle was his only reply, as he pressed even harder into her. “Shh,” he repeated, and then, grinding his budding erection against her backside added, “Such a nice arse. I’ve been thinking about it since August.”

 

Suspecting where all this was going, she tried to push him off, hissing, “I’ll scream!”

 

The man just guffawed into her ear. “Relax. No one will hear you. Also, I’m just having a little fun. I’m not going to harm you. Well, not much, anyway.” He cupped her crotch with one of his hands. “You know, you have to be proud that a famous Quidditch player wants to shag you. ‘Cause, as far as I’m concerned, you’re nothing, just a filthy Death Eaters’ whore.”

 

His fingers began to bunch the material of her robe, and terror began to pulse in her temples. He pushed her legs apart, and she could feel his now fully erect prick prodding between her buttocks. Pinned down, unable to move, and feeling helpless, she gasped, “Don’t!”

 

“Ah, stop this. I’m sure you like it rough,” the wizard chuckled and pinched her nipple, causing her to yelp. Mistaking the pained sound she made for a moan of pleasure, he smugly added, “That’s a good girl. I knew you’d come round, you filthy little cunt.” Roughly squeezing her breasts with both hands, he murmured, “Mmm, I like your tits.”

 

Trying her best to relax and gain some time, Pansy laid her head on his shoulder. The man behind her hummed with appreciation, assaulting her breasts with even more enthusiasm. Sensing that his hold on her had weakened, she mustered all her strength, grabbed the dough-barrel, and, twisting around, threw it right on the git’s head. She didn’t expect him to collapse on the floor with a loud thud, but he did. Looking at his body through blurry eyes, she drew a shaky breath. Then, suddenly feeling sick, she doubled over and threw up all over his shoes.

 

“Fucking bastard,” she hissed, angrily wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “I hope you’re dead,” she added and kicked him. Ignoring the tears that burned in her eyes, she shouted, “I hate you!” and kicked him again and again and again, letting out all the fury that accumulated in her heart. It felt so good, so liberating, she didn’t want to stop, but when she heard a stifled moan from inside the barrel, she hit him one more time, muttered, “Fucker,” grabbed someone’s jacket from a hanger, and ran from the bakery.

 

The streets met her with darkness and chill. The only thought that came to her, surprisingly enough, was that it really did smell like shite at five in the morning.  

 

**_***_ **

****

Two hours later, Pansy found herself half-frozen, hiding under someone’s doorstep. Her head refused to offer any ideas of what to do now, and she felt completely lost. Also, she had managed to convince herself that the Aurors were probably looking for her. Even if they weren’t, though, she couldn’t imagine that anyone would hire her now. Her threadbare robe and tatty shoes were the least of her problems. The number on her wrist and the fact that she didn’t own a wand were much bigger. She really had got lucky with that bakery.

 

“Shite,” she muttered, thinking about the horny bastard who had ruined everything. Good thing she wasn’t one to give up. She hadn't died in that bloody Azkaban, and she wasn’t about to die now. No fucking chance.

 

Willing her teeth to stop chattering, she peeped outside, and saw a litter bin with a corner of the _Prophet_ sticking out of it. Pansy cautiously crept out, took out the newspaper, and dashed back under the steps to look over the classified section. Unfortunately, there weren’t a lot of want ads, and those that were there had one thing in common.

 

‘ _Kindly no Squibs and no Animagi’_.

 

Pansy was neither, and yet, in the eyes of today’s society, she was as bad or, perhaps, far worse. An outcast without a wand. A Death Eaters’ whore. She wasn’t considered a human any more, just a piece of rubbish, discarded after the war.

 

She was almost ready to throw the _Prophet_ back where it belonged, when her eyes fell on another ad. She hadn’t noticed it before, probably because it was printed in the tiniest print possible and placed among the obituaries. Squinting and cursing the microscopic letters, she managed to read,

 

_Live-in governess needed._

_Details will be provided during an initial meeting_

_Please inquire at the address provided below_

To her astonishment, there was no mention of any special conditions. Feeling hopeful, she carefully folded the Prophet, crawled out of her hiding-place, and began to walk. It was still early, and the streets were empty. The address in the ad wasn't far away. The wind was still bitterly cold, though, and attacked her at every corner. She cursed her old robe for not keeping her warm and wrapped the jacket she'd ‘borrowed’ from the baker tightly around her body. It was too big for her, and the smell of yeast and sweat wasn’t her favourite, but it did the job.

 

Focusing her gaze on her shoes and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, Pansy made her way to the corner, and found that she was passing by the old hat shop she'd known from her childhood. Something from the long forgotten past nudged her, and she crossed the road without thinking. Standing in front of it, she couldn’t help glancing at the dark window. It was a mistake. Instead of pretty hats, she was met with her own reflection. Stifling a gasp of disgust, she stared at herself. She hadn't realised how filthy she was. She looked like a beggar. Everything about her was just revolting: her horridly-cut hair, her robe, her shoes. Especially the shoes. A bitter chuckle rose in her throat. Once upon a time, in her other life, she had collected fine shoes. It seemed unreal now.

 

She sniffled. There was no way anyone would let her near their children looking like that. For a moment, she thought about returning to her hiding-place. It would have been so easy just to sit there until she died of hunger and cold, probably even without any pain. She'd simply fall asleep and not wake up. As those thoughts swirled in Pansy’s head, she unconsciously reached for the ring tied to a thread around her neck. That old family jewel was the only thing left from her old life. Pansy still couldn’t understand why the Aurors hadn’t taken it away along with everything else. Her fingers found a ring, and she felt an old familiar magic embracing her. An idea popped up in her head, and even though she didn’t like it, it was much better than the one about dying under someone’s stinky stairs.

 

She was too young to die. Too fucking young! She wasn’t ready to let them win; those bastards who'd reduced her to this. She still clung to the asinine idea that she could make a comeback. She didn’t know how and when, but when she did, she would show them all that she wasn’t just a piece of rubbish, and definitely no one’s whore. Defiantly jerking her chin up, she hitched the collar of the jacket up to her ears and marched forward with a sense of purpose. She needed to find a pawnshop.

 

It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for in Knockturn Alley. Luckily, she didn’t see any familiar faces. The pawnshop was closed, but she could see a light inside. She knocked, and a shady-looking wizard opened the heavy door. Unimpressed with her, he tried to close the door, saying, “Shoo-shoo! I don’t have any change for you.”

 

Moving quickly, Pansy pushed her foot between the door and the frame, snapping, “I don’t need your bloody change.”

 

The wizard stopped trying to push her out, and asked, “What is it then?”

 

She showed him the ring. His colourless eyes sparkled with excitement, and he stepped back, letting her into the shabby shop.

 

It took a while for them to negotiate a price, since the bastard tried to rip her off. Well, that didn’t work. Pansy Parkinson hadn't been born yesterday and knew a thing or two about diamonds and emeralds. They did eventually met somewhere in the middle. There was a moment of hesitation on her part, when it was time to complete their transaction, and she had to let go of the ring. Her heart tightened painfully in her chest, and a hard lump lodged itself in her throat. It hadn't dawned on her until then that she was about to give up the only thing that she had from her mother. It was hard to let go.

 

Ignoring the burning in her eyes for the second time in one blasted morning, she gave up the ring, though not before she made the wizard write her a receipt, in which he vowed not to sell it for at least six months. It wasn’t a guarantee, of course. The wizards of Knockturn Alley were unreliable. She also didn't know how, when, and if she would have an opportunity to buy the ring back. But she needed to have at least a semblance of hope, unfounded though it probably was, in order to keep going. So she deceived herself. She was, after all, a Slytherin, a master of deceit.

 

Noticing her internal battle (because her stupid eyes couldn’t stop burning), the wizard asked why she wanted to sell the ring. She was surprised by his sudden concern – he didn’t come across as a particularly compassionate type - but decided to tell him about her predicament anyway.

 

The second she mentioned that she needed a new robe and shoes, the wizard’s face lit up with a greedy smile. “Ah, my dear. You’re in the right place, then. I have everything you need.” With that, he disappeared into the adjoining room, and then rushed back holding a grey robe and short black boots. “Here, not new, but a lot of life left, I’d say.”

 

 _No_ _fucking_ _compassion here_ , Pansy thought as she warily eyed the shoes and the robe. They looked stolen. But she was in no position to complain, since she couldn’t very well waltz into Madam Malkin’s shop. “How much?” she said, knowing damn well what was coming. Of course, it took her another thirty minutes to negotiate the price, but this time it was much harder. The bastard was determined to get his money back, or at least a good chunk of it. Like a shark that felt blood, he didn’t budge until she'd paid him almost two-thirds of the money he had given her for the ring. By the time she left the shop, she felt exhausted and almost as violated as after the incident in the bakery, though it was her soul that had been fucked this time.

 

Still, she had a new robe, new boots, and a receipt for her ring, securely hidden in one of the pockets, and that was what mattered. The streets were already a little too crowded for comfort. Hiding her face under the hood of the robe, she hurried to the address given in the Prophet. She quickly found a detached brick house and knocked on the door, which opened with a squeak. She looked up and froze with her mouth open.

 

“Miss Parkinson, what are you doing here?” the man at the door asked eventually.

 

Refusing to acknowledge the feeling of doom settling in her stomach, she forced a smile and said, “ I’m here about your ad, and it’s nice to see you again, Professor Lupin.”

 

Of course, it just had to be her former Professor, who probably knew all too well about her current situation. She could see that he had been taken by surprise, and, judging by his incredulous expression, he didn’t consider the surprise a nice one. “Oh, my ad,” he said after a long pause.

 

“Yes, the one about a governess, in the Prophet,” she said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. The man was so bloody slow.

 

“I …” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“Yes,” she said. “I gather you need one?” Narrowing her eyes, she waited for the inevitable rebuke.

 

“Yes, I … we … need one. I’m just not sure that…”

 

She didn’t let him finish. “Oh, no need to continue, Professor. Thank you for giving me a chance. It was very kind of you.” Pansy turned on her heel and took a few steps. She was bluffing, of course, but it was what she knew best. Plus, she really hoped it would work.

 

“Miss Parkinson, wait.”

 

Suppressing a triumphant smile, she spun around. “Professor Lupin?”

 

“I think it would be prudent for us to talk first. Please, come in,” he said, stepping back with an inviting gesture.

 

 _Yes!_ She thought and followed him inside.

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Somewhere Else

**Outsiders**

We've seen some change

But we're still outsiders

(The Outsiders/Frantz Ferdinand)

 

 

**II**

**_Somewhere Else_ **

****

Remus Lupin sat in Andromeda's kitchen and looked into his cup of tea. He had a brooding expression, which was typical for him these days. It was one of those mornings when nothing went right, and even the homey atmosphere of the kitchen couldn’t lift his spirit.

 

He hadn't been able to sleep for most of the night. The moon was making him restless, reminding him that it was time to start taking his Wolfsbane. Alas, money was an issue, as usual, so he was doing his best to stretch the supply of potion. He tried to be as careful as possible, watching the moon calendar. But he was still playing with fire by not taking the potion at the first sign of restlessness. He knew it, and he despised himself for doing that, but he doubted that he would be able to get another batch on credit, so there wasn't really any choice but to make the potion last at least through this full moon.

 

With the night spent tossing and turning, the sunrise found him with a splitting headache, which led to a disaster in the kitchen. Distracted by the annoying pulsing behind his eyes, he had managed to burn Teddy’s porridge. Indeed, he had set the kitchen on fire and had been forced to use _Aquamenti_ to put it out, leaving the kitchen in a total mess. It wasn't a huge problem, but somehow today it seemed like one. He’d seen Andromeda cooking oatmeal for Teddy hundreds of times. There really wasn’t anything difficult about it, and yet he couldn’t pass even that simple test in parenting proficiency. It was no wonder that he failed in everything else.

 

At times like these, he felt like a total failure. It was infuriating. Sometimes, he honestly surprised himself by the amount of shortcomings he had. How could anyone love and trust him? His inability to earn enough money to support his tiny family was humiliating, though not particularly surprising. His lycanthropy hadn't gone away, and the fact that the Order had won the war hadn’t made him any more employable. Well, he had held hopes for a new era, but that was all they were – hopes. At least he wasn’t alone with Teddy. After the war, he probably wouldn't have made it without Andromeda. She had taken care of Teddy, while Remus earned money by giving private lessons. It hadn’t been easy, but they had made ends meet, and, as the months passed, he had found a sort of equilibrium in their little family. The loss of Tonks still made him cry at night, but his guilt had begun to ebb, and now he could look at Teddy without tearing up. Recently, he had even begun to smile again.

 

But sorrow – that selfish bitch – had made him self-centred. Blinded by his grief, he hadn't paid any attention to Andromeda, assuming that she was all right. She never complained. Then, one morning, she hadn’t been able to get up. It turned out that she had worn herself out by hiding her own pain for almost three years, and eventually, her body had given up on her.

 

That had been several weeks ago, and the Healers at St. Mungo’s were still at a loss how to treat her. They had run all the tests they knew and hadn't found anything wrong. Yet she grew steadily weaker, life and magic trickling away from her. Without Andromeda’s help, their little world crumbled instantly. Teddy needed constant care and supervision, and it meant that Remus couldn’t work as much. There were a few nice witches who didn’t mind watching Teddy while Remus taught their children, but only a few, and thus money was tight and became a problem.

 

His guilt revived in all its ferocity, sinking its teeth deeply into him. He again blamed himself for everything. Absolutely everything. It seemed that almost everyone he had ever loved was now either dead, or gravely ill, or simply somewhere else. There was no doubt in his mind that all of it was his fault. With all of that on his mind, Remus didn’t need much to push him into a state of hopeless stupor. His headache, his self-loathing, and this morning’s porridge-fiasco were enough to make him want to drop everything. Thank Merlin, he couldn’t allow himself to do that. The knowledge that Teddy needed him was why he left his bed every sunrise, and why, instead of turning his wand on himself because of a failed batch of bloody oatmeal, he just made himself a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table, ignoring the smell of burned food and sticky spots everywhere.

 

Fortunately, hot tea and toast served their purpose, and soon his head was filled with normal worries. Well, normal for him, to be exact. The full moon was near, and he had to have someone to look after Teddy. He'd posted an ad about a governess in the _Prophet_ three weeks ago, and no one had applied. Not one person. Of course, he could ask Molly again, but she had already helped him a few times, and it didn’t feel right to ask too much of her. She had her own family and her own problems. Harry and Ron were busy with their Auror’s training. Hermione had left for uni and wouldn’t be back until December, and all the other members of the Order of the Phoenix were too busy building a new world without him. He really was in a bit of a pickle.

 

He sighed and scratched the back of his head. Glancing at the clock, he finished his tea and put the mug on the table. It was time to clean the kitchen and try again to make porridge. He stood up and was about to cast a cleaning spell(,) when the doorbell rang twice. Surprised at such an early visitor, he pushed his wand into his pocket and hurried to the door. He didn’t want whoever it was to ring again. If he had learned one thing from being a father, it was that nothing was worse than a toddler woken at a wrong time.

 

 _Maybe_ _someone's answered_ _my ad_ , he thought as he ran, and opened the door with a smile. Alas, the moment he realised who was standing in front of him, his friendly grin slipped away, and the courteous greeting that he had prepared went along with it. It became very clear that his morning wasn’t about to improve, because there, on his doorstep, stood the last person he expected to see, and the last person who could help him. In other words – Pansy Parkinson.

 

His first reaction was to shut the door and go back to the kitchen. He didn’t. Instead, he stared at her, taking in her bony shoulders, messy hair, and sunken cheeks, the way her skinny neck stuck out from a robe which was too big for her, and how the light in her eyes died the moment she recognised him… The sight did something to him. Something painful lodged itself in his throat, catching him by surprise. The girl was pretty nasty, as far as he could recall, and he wasn’t supposed to feel any sympathy towards her.

 

It took him a few moments to find his voice. “Miss Parkinson, what are you doing here?” he finally said.

 

The forced bravado with which she said that she had come about his ad, and the way she nervously clenched and unclenched her fists, didn’t make matters easier for him. He had to turn her down. Only a fool would consider her as a governess for Teddy. And yet, for some reason, it was insanely difficult to say the words. Was it the desperation in her eyes, that echoed his own?

 

Eventually, he ordered himself to stop being a ninny, and began, “I …” But the words just wouldn't come out. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“Yes,” the girl prompted, and a challenging glint appeared in her eyes. “I gather you need one?”

 

Remus could see her narrowing her eyes. She was clearly waiting for him to dismiss her.

 

He sighed and began again, internally cursing himself for being so bloody weak. “Yes, I … we … need one. I’m just not sure that …”

 

She didn’t let him finish. “Oh, no need to continue, Professor. Thank you for giving me a chance. It was very kind of you.” She turned on her heel and took a few steps. Watching her walk away with her shoulders slumped and her grey robe flapping around her thin ankles, he tried to stay silent. He really did. But when a strong gust of wind almost made her lose her footing, he couldn’t stop himself. “Miss Parkinson, wait,” he called.

 

She turned around with a smile, which she quickly hid. “Professor Lupin?”

 

Remus, feeling at once manipulated and yet oddly pleased, said, “I think it would be prudent for us to talk first. Please, come in.”

****

Once in the kitchen, she made a face at all the mess, and he was reminded why he hadn't liked her in Hogwarts. She certainly wasn’t the friendliest witch in the world. Before he had a chance to say a word, she said, “What on earth happened here?”

 

He mumbled something about his unsuccessful war with porridge, which earned him a sarcastic “I see.” Then she pointed to a chair and ordered, “All right, Professor, sit here.”

 

He tried to protest, “But Miss Parkinson -”

 

“We can talk when I finish with this, Professor,” she snapped, giving him a side-glance. “And, please, call me Pansy. We’re not in Hogwarts any more.”

 

Remus obediently sat down and, watching her clean the mess with a kitchen cloth, said, “Then I think it would be fair for you to call me Remus.” Then, as a thought popped in his head, he added, “Why don’t you use your wand, Miss Par- uh, Pansy?”

 

She froze, and he could see her back tense. Then she slowly dropped her arms and turned to face him. Noticing a slight blush on her cheeks and a wary flicker in her eyes, he guessed what he was about to hear.

 

“I don’t have one,” she confessed quietly, clenching the kitchen cloth in her hands as if it could somehow help her. “It doesn’t mean I can’t be useful,” she added quickly, keeping her gaze on her black boots.

 

“But…” Remus rubbed his unshaved chin. “What happened?”

 

Somehow this question made her furious. She raised her chin, hitched up a sleeve, and shoved her arm in his face. “This happened! Azkaban happened!”

 

Staring at her tattooed wrist, he tried to understand. True, he didn’t know much about the fate of Slytherins after the war. To be honest, he hadn't been particularly interested. He had had quite enough on his mind plate as it was. Now, though, seeing her thin pale arm branded with Azkaban's number, he felt disgusted. Three years ago, they had all been just mere children caught on the wrong side of the war. This shouldn't have happened.

 

Remus gazed at her and said, "I'm sorry."

 

Her anger visibly ebbed. She awkwardly shifted from one foot to another, carefully put the kitchen cloth on the table, and said, “So, I guess I’ll go now.”

 

“Miss Parkinson … Pansy, sit down.”

 

She did, silently looking at her hands.

 

“Do you think you would be able to look after a small child?” he asked.

 

She shrugged. “I dunno, I’ve never tried.” Then, raising her head and focusing her brown eyes on him, she said, “I guess I can. How hard can it be? I definitely can cook better than you. I’ve been cooking for the last three months. And baking. And cleaning. I worked in a bakery. The owner was a grumpy old bore, who never said a good word to me, but I think he was pleased."

 

“Why did you leave, then?” Remus was genuinely curious.

 

She tensed again. “It doesn’t matter.” She didn't quite meet his eyes.

 

Remus frowned. For a moment, he wondered whether he should press her about what had happened, but he decided against it. Looking at her, he didn't know what to do. She was the complete opposite of what he had hoped for, but at least she was here and more than willing to work. “I won’t be able to pay much,” he said, watching her reaction.

 

Giving him a quick, hopeful glance, Pansy blurted, “It’s all right. I've nowhere to go anyway.”

 

"Don't you have anyone?"

 

She shook her head. "No." Her guarded expression indicated that she didn't want to talk about that, either.

 

Remus sighed. He didn’t want to rush into things, but the moon was growing bigger every night, and he desperately needed someone to look after Teddy while he was locked in the basement. “Well, perhaps we shall try,” he said eventually. “Let's give it a few days.”

 

“Really?” She stood up. Noticing the burned pot, she smirked. “So, what about the porridge? Do you still need it?”

 

He glanced at the clock and admitted, “Actually, I do, right about now.”

 

“Well, you’ll just need to fire up the range, since I don’t have … you know…”

 

“Yes, yes, of course. Sorry about that.” Remus quickly used a spell, and, a few minutes later, the fire was once again enthusiastically crackling in the stove.

 

Since Pansy was cooking and Teddy still asleep, Remus decided to take a shower. Alas, it did him no good. As he stood under the stream of hot water, doubts began to gnaw at him and panic began to rise. Pansy Parkinson couldn’t be considered trustworthy, and how he could have assumed that it would be safe to leave Teddy with her was suddenly beyond him. Abruptly ending the shower, he dried himself, threw on trousers and shirt, and ran to Teddy’s room. It was empty, and he bolted down the corridor into the kitchen, where he found a wide-eyed and purple-haired Teddy sitting on a table and being fed by Pansy.

 

“He came here probably looking for you,” she explained, manoeuvring a spoon full of porridge into Teddy’s mouth. "So I decided to give it a try."

 

The boy turned around and, seeing his father, stretched his chubby arms toward him. Remus strode across the kitchen and took the boy into his arms. “Morning, mate,” he murmured into the boy’s locks, which immediately turned orange, and gave him a kiss. Teddy giggled and kissed him back, sticking his fingers into his hair and successfully coating Remus’ face with oatmeal. “So much for the shower,” he thought, sitting down with Teddy in his lap. Teddy put his thumb into his mouth and, fixing his eyes on Pansy, pointed at her and uttered a questioning sound.

“This is Pansy,” Remus explained, gently kissing his son’s forehead. “She will be living with us for a while. Maybe.”

 

That ‘maybe’ nudged Pansy, who until then had been silently watching them, into action. She picked up the kitchen cloth and began to wipe the range. “I asked him his name, and he didn’t answer," she said. "How old is he? He looks old enough to talk.”

 

Not caring for her tone, Remus responded, perhaps a little bit too sharply. “Teddy is three, and no, he hasn't begun to talk. He is also a Metamorphagus, Miss Parkinson. And I’m still a werewolf. Are you sure you want to work here?”

 

The witch spun around, staring at them. After a long pause, she whispered, “I don’t know.”

 

Remus nodded. “I see.” He stood up and took Teddy’s hand. “Come on, buddy. We need to get going. We have a busy day today.” Pausing on the threshold, not looking at Pansy, he said, “We’ll be back in the evening, Miss Parkinson. You said earlier that you had nowhere to go, so I can’t throw you out on the street. However, if you don't feel comfortable working here, there is not much more I can do for you. Please decide and let me know tonight.” Then he put Teddy on his shoulder, shouted, “Let’s fly,” and ran down the corridor.

 

Eight hours later, when he came home with Teddy asleep in his arms, he found a dinner ready in the kitchen, and Pansy Parkinson sleeping on the sofa.

 


	3. My Own Heroes

**Outsiders**

We've seen some change

But we're still outsiders

(The Outsiders/Frantz Ferdinand)

 

****

**_III_ **

 

****

**_My Own Heroes_ **

****

_A heavy body was pressing into her. The stench of the sweat and firewhisky filled her nostrils_ _,_ _making her shudder with disgust. “Relax,_ _no one will hear you,”_ _rang in her ear,_ _raising_ _goosebumps down her spine. She tried to cry for help but couldn’t make a sound, and_ _only thrashed_ _against an unyielding chest. It was futile. She was suffocating._

 

Gasping for air, Pansy tore her eyes open. Throwing the thick woollen blanket aside, she sat up in her bed and warily looked around. As she took in the pretty flowery print on the walls, she exhaled, releasing the stiffness brought on by the nightmare. After her breathing had returned to normal, she glanced at the window and swore. It was still dark outside, and the clock showed ten minutes past five. Shaking her head, she lay down again. “Damn that bakery,” she muttered, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. _And_ _damn that bloody dream_ , she thought, staring up at the ceiling.

 

She had been living here for almost three weeks and still woke up too early. Yet, apart from the nightmares and her inability to sleep after five A. M., she had to admit that her life had changed for the better. Her room was much nicer now. Small and unfussy, it was also clean and warm. The window had curtains, which was oddly important for her. Bare windows reminded her of Azkaban, and those weren’t very welcomed memories. Plus (and it was a huge plus), now she had access to hot water, toiletries, and plush towels. In her other life, she would have thought nothing of that, especially since there wasn't any rosewater or French milled soap. But everything had changed. She was different now. So different that she couldn’t stop crying when she took her first hot shower in years. It was pathetic. She didn’t know how much time she had spent in that shower on that day. She’d just curled in the corner, letting the water pound her back. Maybe she'd hoped that it would wash away all the horrors she’d seen, all the pain she’d felt. Alas, it was only water. It couldn’t do that for her.  

 

She had felt so stupid afterwards, when she’d come out with her eyes puffy and red from all the crying. It didn’t help that the Professor had surely guessed what had taken her so long. She didn't know why, but the sad sigh he had let out, and the way he had patted her shoulder, had made her furious. It still made her angry, even after three weeks. She didn’t need his pity. Fuck that, she didn’t need anyone’s pity, and, by the way, he was pretty pathetic himself. A depressed werewolf, with socks full of darns and a wardrobe almost as shabby as hers – she bloody despised him. Well, she was _supposed_ to despise him. She had been raised to sneer down at the likes of him, and she really had tried to do it. Only she couldn’t, because he had made it bloody impossible. His idiotic tendency to do all the right and kind things had spoilt all her plans to hate him. She couldn’t help remembering every kind thing he had done: how he hadn’t thrown her out on the streets; how he’d covered her with a blanket when she had fallen asleep on his sofa; how he’d tried to make it easier for her to tolerate her wandless life. She had forgotten that there was such a thing as empathy in the world. Her own kind hadn’t been eager to help her when she had been freed from Azkaban. She had been rejected without a second thought by the very people she had known all her life, like Draco, for instance. She didn’t hold a grudge against him, though – it was a survival instinct. Had the tables been turned, she would have done the same. They weren’t heroes.

 

Still, it had been so easy to loathe the baker with his piggy eyes, red face, and loud voice, and she had expected to feel the same way about her soft-spoken Professor. It hadn’t happened, and without the hatred that had kept her going before, she’d felt lost and confused, which, of course, was the Professor's fault. She had hoped that the first full moon would make her abhor him, werewolves being such disgusting creatures. That hadn’t happened, either: in fact, everything that had taken place during the full moon had been rather anticlimactic. There hadn't been any howling, screeching or any other wild events. The Professor had simply disappeared down into the basement for two days and then reappeared, sleepy, unshaved, and exhausted, and everything had gone back to normal. What a shame. She hadn’t been even afraid: she had just wanted a spectacle. Oh, well …

 

Even though he had been nothing but kind to her, she couldn’t bring herself to call him Remus. It just didn’t roll off of her tongue. So she thought of him as the Professor, and avoided any conversation with him, which hadn’t been that hard, since the Lupin household was the quietest household she had ever seen. Even the stuck-up Malfoys talked more than the Professor. It was no wonder that Teddy hadn’t begun to talk. She couldn’t claim that the Professor was a bad father, just a bit clueless and broken. Still, it was obvious that the father and son had a strong bond, and the amount of time they spent just cuddling made her jealous. Her father had never spent so much time with her. Never ever.

 

Her relationship with the boy wasn’t easy, either. It had taken them about a week to warm up to each other, and even longer for her to recognise Teddy’s moods by the colour of his hair. Purple, for instance, meant that he felt worried. The triumph of her first day had considerably dimmed since she had learned that. But Pansy was nothing if not determined, so she kept working to earn his trust. Her greatest success so far had been light-lavender hair, and she now wanted to see some happy colours.  

 

On the whole, they were doing all right. She even had begun to feel sympathy towards the kid. He was a dreamer, and at times, he reminded her of Theo Nott. Poor Theo. Everyone had always known that he was no Slytherin and had been sorted into their house only because of his family name. He would’ve done brilliantly in Ravenclaw, and perhaps, if the sorting hat hadn’t been so stupid, he wouldn’t have ended up hanging himself in Azkaban. Of course, nothing like that was in store for Teddy Lupin, and she was sure that in eight years, he would be sorted into Ravenclaw, if he would begin to talk, of course. It wasn’t clear to her why he refused to talk. He understood her perfectly, and could point at every object she asked. One day, she had tried to trick him into talking, but he’d outsmarted her at every turn and eventually refused to communicate at all, spending the rest of the day gazing out the window. That had taught her a lesson, and afterward, she had left him alone. He wasn’t her kid, after all. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about it, eventually coming to the conclusion that the atmosphere in the house was probably at fault, and that Teddy was too clever and too sensitive for his own good.

 

Sometimes, looking at the Professor’s slumped shoulders and sad face, she wanted to shake some sense into him. Even she could see how his pessimism rubbed off on Teddy. How couldn’t he notice that? But she had chosen to stay quiet about that as well. She had enough problems of her own. She was a governess, not a mother. Speaking of which, she hadn't been able to find a picture of Teddy’s mother anywhere in the house. She assumed that something had happened to her, though the Professor had never mentioned anything. Still, it was odd that they didn’t have her picture anywhere. Pansy knew a big fat zero about raising children, but that didn’t seem right to her. A child ought to know his mother. Being an orphan now, she felt a certain empathy for Teddy. She hadn't intended it, but the longer she lived there, the more she found herself attached to his plump rosy face, even despite his odd liking for porridge.

 

_Porridge!_

 

Pansy abruptly sat up and muttered, “Oh, shite.” They were out of food. She had known that she would eventually have to shop for groceries. The Professor had given her money a week ago, but she had kept putting it off. To tell the truth, she was terrified of going alone. Of course, if she‘d told him about it, he would have gone with her, but she wasn’t about to admit she was scared. She wasn’t weak, and she didn’t need his help. What was a little shopping for someone who’d survived Azkaban? Nothing, really. Easy-peasy.  

 

She jumped up and dashed to the loo. There was a nearby market that opened at five-thirty. She had been there once, with the baker, when they had unexpectedly run out of vanilla beans. Deciding that if she sneaked out right now and did everything quickly, she could return before anyone woke up, she washed her face, put on her robe, took the money, and slipped outside. The frigid wind immediately pounded against her, and she had to pause on the doorstep. Her mum had always told her that it was bad luck to return for something that was forgotten, and even though she’d never paid superstitions much mind, this time she hesitated. But when another gust tried to get under her robe and bite into her bones, she swore, turned around, and stepped back into the house. A minute later, she re-appeared, wearing the jacket she’d _borrowed_ from the baker three weeks ago. Shivering, she wrapped it around herself and set out on her mission.

 

To her relief, the streets were empty. Hiding her face under the hood, she walked as quickly as possible, trying to overcome her irrational fear that gripped her throat with its rigid cold fingers. There was nothing to it, she was sure. After all, it was five-bloody-thirty in the morning, and no one in their right mind would be out that early, except, perhaps, a few peasants and house elves, but she wasn’t scared of them. Finally, the voice of reason won, and she was able to focus on her shopping list. She needed everything: milk, eggs, flour ... The thought of being able to bake fresh rolls made her smile. She imagined the identical expression of wonder on Teddy and the Professor’s faces and snorted. They always reacted like that when she baked something, and she found it silly. Touching, but silly.

 

Rounding the corner, she almost fell, stumbling on a slippery cobblestone. The gaslight gave an odd green sheen to the pavement: it had probably rained through the night. She sighed and slowed down. Scraping her knees was the last thing she needed right now. She was almost there anyway, just two more turns. The only unpleasant part was that she had to walk by an old pub, but she expected that it was closed at this hour. She couldn’t imagine people drinking through the early morning.

 

As she came near the greasy window of the pub, she discovered that she had been wrong. There was still light in there, and she could hear drunken voices. Pansy shook her head in disbelief, crossed the street, and sped up again. Some wizards were truly disgusting.

 

She had only gone a few steps when she heard the door opening and a vaguely familiar voice yelling: “Oi! It’s my jacket you're wearing!”

 

She began to run, without turning to look back.

 

“Stop, you bloody thief!”

 

She heard heavy steps behind her. This time, she recognised his voice, and with her heart pulsing in her throat, groceries forgotten, she ran back towards the Professor’s house. At one point, it seemed that she had lost her pursuer. Gasping and shaking, she stopped to breathe. Alas, the next moment, she saw two dark figures at the corner.

 

“There she is,” one of them cried.

 

She began to run again. She was very close to the house now, only two houses away. Muttering, “Faster, faster, faster,” she dashed into the back alley, passing the first house and then the second one. _Only a few more feet,_ she thought. _Almost there_ _..._

She could already see the doorstep when a strong arm grabbed her by the hood and slammed her into the wall. “Got you!” the wizard snarled, and ripped her hood off.

 

Pansy threw a quick glance at him, feeling her stomach churning. His drunken face was so close to her, she could smell his foul breath.

 

“Well, hello there. Long time no see, bitch,” he said, pressing his body into hers.

 

Another wizard appeared at the end of the alley. “Did you catch the mouse, mate?”

 

“I sure did. We need to have a little talk here. Just watch the street for me, mate. All right?”

 

Turning to look at the second wizard, Pansy could see his hesitation. His sloshed face turned comically serious, as he tried to gather his thoughts. Alas, it seemed that he was either too drunk or simply lacked the capacity for thinking. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, Reggie, are you?” he said eventually, shifting from one foot to the other.

 

 _Reggie? Merlin_. Pansy grimaced. It was difficult to imagine a more obnoxious human being.

 

“Nope,” Reggie said. A nasty smile broke on his face, and he licked his lips. “Just a little talk, nothing more.” Pansy drew a deep breath, ready to shout for help, but the wizard was quicker this time and covered her mouth with his sweaty palm. A wave of nausea engulfed her, and she closed her eyes.

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he snarled, withdrawing his hand, “no fainting now. Do you hear me? I don’t fuck goners. I’m no pervert.”

 

She opened her eyes and said hoarsely, “No pervert? You bloody bastard! No one in their right mind would ever fuck you, so a corpse or maybe a goat sounds like your only logical choice.” With satisfaction she watched his face tense, as he tried to gauge her insult. Taking advantage of his momentary loss of focus, she spat into his face and kneed him in the groin. It didn’t bring the wanted result, since he just cursed but didn’t budge.

 

“You’ll regret that,” he muttered, and slapped her across the face. Her head banged against the wall, and she felt blood filling her mouth. “Now, be a good girl, will you?” he whispered in her ear, then, jerking her head back by the hair, repeated, “Will you?”

 

She spat right in his eye and shouted, “Fucker!”

 

“Cunt,” he hissed and was about to slap her again, when his face suddenly became slack, his fingers let go, and he fell down.

 

Baffled, she looked up, and her eyes met the furious eyes of the Professor. Paying no mind to the body, he stepped over it and said, “Are you all right?”

 

She nodded, swallowed the blood in her mouth, and slowly began to slide down the wall. He caught her before she hit the ground, carried her to the doorstep, and sat down. It felt strange to be cuddled like a little girl. She didn’t want to cry, but tears came anyway, and she hid her face in his pyjama-clad chest and let the tears flow, thankful that he didn’t ask anything and just silently stroked her hair.

 

She didn’t know how much time went by, but when she heard two sounds of Apparition, one horrible thought filled her mind. _Aurors_ , she thought, watching the silhouettes and feeling a wave of panic. The Professor gently nudged her from his lap and said, “Wait here, I have to talk to them.” She silently moved aside on the doorstep, fighting a desire to flee and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

 

The Aurors and the Professor talked for about ten minutes, and she tried to convince herself that nothing bad would happen to her. But when she saw an apologetic expression on the Professor’s face as he walked back to her, she knew that she was in trouble. As he reached the stairs, he stopped, sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “Pansy, I’m sorry, but you will have to go with them,” he said in the end, his eyes not meeting hers.

 

She began to shake her head before he finished the sentence. “No, no, no …”

 

“Pansy, please, it's just a formality,” he muttered, sounding unsure.

 

“No, I’m not going. It’s never just a formality for someone like me. Never,” she whispered. “Help me. I know you can. You’re a bloody hero, aren't you?”

 

He was about to say something, but one of the Aurors came near them, took a hold of her elbow, and raised her from the steps. “Miss Parkinson, you have to go with us.”

 

She thrashed against the Auror, trying to free her arm. “Don’t touch me. I didn’t do anything wrong.” The Auror’s hold was unwavering, and she turned to the Professor again. “Please, please, Professor, don’t let them take me,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to go back to Azkaban! Please, Professor … Remus … please! I have no one. Please.”

 

Stepping closer and clasping her face between his palms, Remus looked into her eyes and said, “You are not going back to Azkaban. I won’t allow it. Do you understand? You’ll be home by supper, I promise you.”

 

Pansy sniffled, wiped her tears with her free hand, and nodded. The next moment, she felt the sickening pull of Side-Along Apparition.

 


	4. Always There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to **orlando_switch**. Your thoughtful reviews and our conversations on LJ are so very helpful.  <3

**Outsiders**

We've seen some change

But we're still outsiders

(The Outsiders/Frantz Ferdinand)

 

 

**IV**

**_Always There_ **

“You are not going back to Azkaban. I won’t allow it. Do you understand? You’ll be home by supper, I promise you,” Remus said and released Pansy’s tear-stricken face. It was painful to watch her being taken away by the Aurors. Painful and infuriating.

 

For a while, he lingered in the middle of the street, staring at the pavement and trying to make sense of what had just happened. Icy gusts of wind pounded into him, making his tatty pyjamas flap around his thin frame, but he didn’t notice that. _I didn’t do anything wrong_ , rang in his ears, and he could still see Pansy’s haunted look. She was right – she hadn't done anything wrong. Only half an hour ago, she had been cruelly attacked: he had seen her bloodied lip and bruised cheek. Thank Merlin he had interfered, because he didn’t even want to think what could have happened if he hadn’t. But instead of being treated as a victim, she had been unceremoniously dragged to the Ministry for questioning, without any regard to her physical or psychological state. It seemed so wrong to him, so unjust that her Azkaban past had automatically placed her under suspicion.

 

Foolishly harbouring a slight hope in the victory of logic, he had attempted to reason with the Aurors. Alas, they hadn’t cared. That wasn’t anything new. He had seen that kind of attitude before, and apparently things hadn’t changed after the war. Prejudice was still alive and well in their new world. The Aurors' indifference and his helplessness made him so bloody angry that he let out a deep growl into the black sky. Of course, the air swallowed it, and the clouds continued on their lazy journeys. Defeated, he turned around, walked up the steps, and almost destroyed the doorknob by tugging it too hard.

 

Pacing the narrow corridor, he tried to calm down, but the scene that he had just witnessed was making him ill. He didn't know which was worse: the sorry excuse for a wizard who had tried to assault Pansy, or the Aurors who had taken her away. As usual, it wasn't long before he had convinced himself that everything was his fault. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that it wasn’t safe to let Pansy go out shopping on her own? He should have known better. During the three weeks she had been living with them, she had never left the house. Why hadn't he realised that the outside world was dangerous for her? He’d thought that her playing with Teddy only in the courtyard had been just a matter of convenience. It should have been obvious that she was afraid of something. Alas, he hadn’t paid any attention, and now, because of him, she was in danger. Moreover, he had given her a promise, and he hadn’t any idea how he was going to keep it. He halted, raked his fingers through his hair, muttered, “Idiot,” and began to pace again.

 

Eventually, he decided that pacing wouldn’t help anyone, and went to the kitchen, where he made himself a cup of tea. It was still too early to go to the Ministry, and he thought that he had plenty of time to work out a plan. Naturally, however, somewhere between the second and third sips of his tea, Remus heard the patter of little feet on the wooden floor. A few seconds later, Teddy, his hair bright purple and eyes wide, appeared in the doorway.

 

Standing up and smiling, Remus opened his arms and said, “Good morning, lad. Did you sleep well?”

 

Teddy ran to him and, grasping his hand, began to pull him towards the corridor.

 

“What is it?” Remus asked, following his son. Teddy stopped in front of the open door to Pansy’s room and pointed at her empty bed.

 

“Oh.” Remus rubbed the back of his head. “Pansy just went shopping. There is nothing to worry about.”

 

Teddy's face fell, and Remus noticed a telltale glint in his eyes. _Oh no,_ he thought and picked him up, pressing his warm little body to his chest. “I know, Teddy, I know. She’ll come back, I promise,” he muttered into his purple hair.

 

Teddy raised his face and gave him a long inquisitive look. Peering into his son’s blue eyes, Remus felt his heart tightening painfully. There was so much wariness in them. A three-year-old wasn’t supposed to look at him like that. But people kept disappearing from his life, and it was only logical that Teddy didn’t believe him. Remus’ eyes began to sting. He cleared his throat, kissed Teddy’s forehead and said again, “I promise. Please believe me.”

 

Teddy held his gaze for a moment longer, but then, to Remus' relief, his round face broke into a cute smile, and his hair slowly changed, first into light lavender, then into its normal blue. The boy giggled and gave his father a sloppy kiss, the kind that only toddlers know how to give. Remus laughed, though his throat still felt constricted and his eyes still stung. “Come on, mate," he said. "We need to get dressed. We're going to see Aunt Molly today.” At this, Teddy began clapping and squealing with joy. “See, I knew you'd love that!”

 

Teddy nodded with enthusiasm and, pointing at Remus’ shoulder, made swishing noises.

 

“You want to fly?” Remus said. In answer, Teddy’s hair turned bright orange. “Let’s fly, then!” Holding the boy under his stomach, he began to spin him around. Teddy’s giggles filled the house, and a sudden sense of peace filled Remus’ heart. _Everything will be all right,_ he told himself, looking at the happy face of his son. _We’ll be all right._

*******

Two hours later, somewhere around eight o’clock, Remus arrived at the Ministry. The knowledge that Teddy was being looked after made it easier for him to focus on the task at hand, though, to be honest, he had yet to decide where to start. He disliked the Ministry with its crowded corridors and bureaucrats running amok, and only visited it when there was no alternative. He could count on the fingers of one hand how many times he had gone there in the past three years.

 

Now, making his way through a frantic morning crowd, he felt completely out of his element. To go straight to Kingsley seemed wrong and presumptuous. He had never asked for favours before. But he had given his word twice already, and there was no turning back now. In the end, he decided to see Arthur first, in the hope that he would be able to help him or, at least, give him some pointers. Thank Merlin, he knew exactly where to find him. In any case, with Arthur he felt more at ease. Avoiding the most congested areas, he began to move towards the lifts.

 

“Remus!”

 

Turning around, he saw Kingsley towering over the crowd, waving and walking towards him. For once pleasantly surprised, Remus stopped, waved back, and watched everyone else politely stepping aside, allowing the Minister a clear passage.

 

“So glad to see you,” Kingsley said in his rumble of a voice, when there were only a few feet between them. “Long time no see. I think the last time we met was at the Victory ball.” By now, he was close enough to shake Remus’ hand.

 

“Glad to see you too, and indeed, it’s been a while.” Remus shook Kingsley’s hand with genuine warmth.

 

“How are you? How is Teddy? Tell me, how have you been?”

 

“I … we ...” Remus faltered, noticing how interested everyone around them looked. Suddenly, the idea of telling Kingsley about his family problems in public became unattractive. Dozens of curious eyes that focused on him was making him increasingly uncomfortable. “We’re all right, thank you,” he managed eventually.

 

Kingsley frowned and narrowed his dark eyes. “Come on, let’s go to my office, where you can tell me how you've really been,” he said and beckoned Remus to follow him into the lift.

 

After a moment of hesitation, Remus nodded and went with him. Perhaps, he thought, everything would be easier than he had expected. Fortunately, Kingsley didn’t ask any more questions until they reached his office, which surprised Remus by being brightly lit and airy. Once the Minister had sat down behind his mahogany desk, Remus was forced to answer a barrage of questions about Teddy, Andromeda, and himself. It took him a while to convince Kingsley that he and Teddy were doing all right, and that Andromeda was receiving the best possible care. All that was true. Since Pansy had appeared at his door, they had been doing fine. Up until this morning, that is.

 

“So what brought you to the Ministry? And at this hour?” Kingsley said, gazing at him thoughtfully.

 

Remus sighed, raked his hair and then cleared his throat, while Kingsley patiently waited. “Well,” he finally said, “after Andromeda fell sick, I needed someone to look after Teddy.”

 

“Yes?” Kingsley prompted.

 

“I found a nanny, and we were doing fine.” Remus stopped and cleared his throat again. “Early this morning, she was assaulted near our house. I was able to stop the attack and rendered both attackers unconscious. I called the Aurors.”

 

“So everything was done correctly, and the attackers are in custody.”

 

“Yes.” Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “The problem is that the Aurors also took the nanny in for questioning, and against her will.”      

 

Kingsley frowned. “That doesn’t seem quite right. What was the reasoning they gave you?”

 

“They didn’t comment, and trust me, I did ask. I believe it had something to do with her past.” A wave of anger engulfed Remus once again.

 

Understanding seemed to dawn on Kingsley. “Who is your nanny, Remus? What is her name?”

 

“The name is Pansy Parkinson. In any case, I don’t see why she was treated like a criminal this morning. She didn’t do anything wrong. She was the one who had been attacked, and those Aurors didn’t even try to treat her civilly or as a victim.”

 

Kingsley shrugged. “Well, you have to agree, they had every reason to be suspicious. She'd been in Azkaban.”

 

Feeling even more livid, Remus stood up and leaned towards Kingsley, placing his palms on the desk. “I don’t. I really don’t think she should have been sent to Azkaban in the first place. They were all just kids, for Merlin’s sake. Tell me, Kingsley, is that what we were fighting for, taking an assaulted girl to the Ministry for questioning? Is this it? Is this our new shiny world? Because if it is, frankly, I’m disgusted.”

 

The Minister also drew himself up and boomed, “No, it is not. However, in order to keep our population safe, we had to act. Yes, we may have been too harsh to some of them, but we were still at war, and it was no time for gentleness. Some of those so-called kids were Death Eaters. They killed people. Do you remember?”

 

Remus slumped back onto his chair. Kingsley walked around his desk and leaned on it across from him. “I understand your disappointment. But you don’t know all the factors in these cases.”

 

“It still doesn’t make it right. At least in this particular instance.” Remus looked at the wizard. “Please, look into it.”

 

“You know, I think I will. Right now.” Kingsley stood up and went to the door. “Wait here. It shouldn’t take long.” With that, he left.

 

*******

After the first hour, it was clear that Kingsley would take a while. In any case, it was definitely long enough for Remus to start thinking about the events of the morning again. He kept torturing himself with the same question. Could he have prevented all that occurred? Sitting in the Minister’s office and analysing the past three weeks, he realised that he hadn’t been fair to Pansy. Indeed, he had hardly treated her any better than those Aurors. Somehow, he had fallen into the habit of accepting her work without acknowledging her, almost without talking to her. Yes, at first, he hadn’t wanted to make her uncomfortable and had wanted to give her space. Still, she had been living with them for three bloody weeks, and he hadn’t asked her a single question. It hadn’t occurred to him that maybe she had needed help, friendly advice, or just a sign of sympathy. She was alone in the world. He should have known exactly how she felt, and yet he had chosen to remain cold and detached. He didn't understand how he could have behaved that way. Had he not trusted her enough? No, that didn’t make sense, since he had trusted her with Teddy. Had her energetic presence been unsettling to him? He didn't know why it had been easier for him to just ignore her.

 

Suddenly remembering the way her body had shuddered in his arms, and how her tears had soaked his pyjamas, he whispered, “Oh, Merlin.” Feeling ashamed of himself, he sprang to his feet and began to pace again. For the last three weeks, he had been a callous git. That much was clear. All that will change the moment she returns, he promised himself, and sat down, covering his face with his hands. Why was he always making so many mistakes?

 

The sound of the opening door interrupted his session of self-loathing. Kingsley came in with a smile.

 

“Everything's been taken care of. The Auror behind this door will take you to her, and the two of you will be able to go home straight away.”

 

Remus sprang to his feet, but the Minister stopped him.

 

“However,” he said, “there are a few things. First of all, even though it was made clear to those two bastards that they will lose their place in the team if they ever go near Parkinson again, I can’t guarantee anything. Unfortunately, I can't go any further, since I couldn't persuade Miss Parkinson to file charges against them. No matter what I said, her answer was no. Maybe you will be able to persuade her to change her mind.”

 

Remus shook his head. “I'll try, but I’m not sure. I don’t think she trusts our authorities.”

 

“Yes, I can understand that. Still, you should try to talk to her about it.”

 

“I will,” Remus said, extending his hand for a shake. “Thank you for your help. I truly appreciate it.”

 

“Yes, but there is still one thing …”

 

Remus tensed.

 

“You probably should supply miss Parkinson with a new set of clothes, since her current one consists of stolen items.”

 

Remus collapsed on a chair. “What?”

 

Kingsley sighed. “I don’t think she had any choice, Remus. It doesn’t matter. Just find her new clothes. Also, if, by any chance you have a spare wand, perhaps you can lend it to her. It will make her life much easier.”

 

“I … I didn’t know she was allowed to have one.” He couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to him to offer her his spare wand.

 

“She is. I suspect that she lost her wand in Azkaban, and wasn’t able to buy a new one.”

 

“I'll do it tonight. Thank you again.” This time both of them extended their hands simultaneously, ending their meeting with a warm handshake.

 

“You’re very welcome.” Kingsley smiled. “Please let me know if you need my help with St. Mungo’s. And keep Miss Parkinson off the streets, will you?”

 

“I will.”

 

Remus hurried to a foyer where the Auror was waiting for him. After a brisk walk through the labyrinth of corridors, they stopped at a plain wooden door. The Auror silently opened it, and Remus stepped inside. Unlike Kingsley's office, this room didn’t have charmed windows and was dimly lit. Nevertheless, he saw Pansy right away. Although a chair stood right beside her, she was sitting on the floor with her forehead on her knees.

 

“Pansy,” he called.

 

She raised her head, and their eyes met. “Professor,” she said. Jumping up, she ran across the room and threw her arms around his neck. “Remus,” she whispered into his coat, “you're here.”

 

Awkwardly shifting from one foot to another, Remus confirmed the obvious, “I am,” and added, “I think it’s better if we get going.”

 

Pansy let go of his neck, drew back, and, not looking at him, with her cheeks ablaze, agreed, “Yes, it is.”

 

After a few seconds of hesitation, he took her hand in his and said, “Let’s get out of here.” Pansy nodded and allowed him to lead her. Five minutes later, they were at the Apparition point. Keeping her hand in his, he said, “Ready?”

 

She smiled and boldly stepped in closer.

 

Closing his eyes, he pressed her slight body to him and Side-Alonged them home, although the way her arms circled his waist didn’t make it easy to focus. Perhaps that was the reason why he hastily untangled himself, the moment they landed in the kitchen.

 

Pansy let out a sigh and gazed around. “Where's Teddy?” The concern in her eyes caught Remus off guard.

 

“He's with Molly. I’ll pick him up tomorrow morning.”

 

“Oh … I’ll make the tea, then,” she blurted and immediately picked up the kettle.

 

“Please allow me.” Remus took the kettle from her hand and gently pushed her into the chair. Soon two cups of tea were ready, and he sat down across the table from her. “We have to talk,” he said, watching Pansy warming her hands on the cup.

 

“We do?” She focused her brown eyes on him.

 

“Yes. We do.”

 

They did. He asked her to tell him everything he needed to know to keep her safe, and anything she wanted to get off her chest. She told him about Azkaban, about her parents, and about the baker’s son. She didn’t cry, but her voice grew quieter with every new detail, with every new loss. At one point, he reached out and covered her hand with his. It was the least support he could offer her. After she finished her tale, they ate his chocolate and drank tea with Firewhisky, because tea alone simply wasn't enough. He offered her one of his wands, and that was when she started crying. It took him a long time to calm her down, but he managed, by telling funny stories about his youth. Then, when exhaustion had overcome her, he walked her to her bedroom.

 

“Good night,” he said, opening the door for her.

 

“Good night.” She nodded, but when Remus turned to leave, she called him, “Remus.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Next time, it will be your turn.”

 

“My turn?” Remus frowned, not quite grasping her meaning.

 

“Yes.” She smiled. “I told you my story, now you ought to tell me yours. You know… to keep you safe and stuff.”

 

“Oh,” he chuckled. “Fair enough.”

 

“Is it a promise?”

 

“It is.”

 

“Good.” She drew a content sigh. “Well, good night, then.”

 

“Good night,” he said, and once again turned to leave.

 

“Remus?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Thank you for being there for me,” she whispered, stepped inside, and closed the door.

 

Staring at her closed door, Remus muttered, “You’re very welcome,” and went back to the kitchen to finish the bottle of Firewhisky. It had been a hell of a day, and he needed a bit more alcohol.

 


	5. Fall for Your Type

**Outsiders**

_We've seen some change_

_But we're still outsiders_

_(The Outsiders/Frantz Ferdinand)_

**V**

**_Fall for Your Type_ **

“The end.” Pansy closed the book. Chuckling at Teddy’s futile attempts to keep his eyes open, she said, “Time to sleep, mister.”

 

The boy pouted at first, but when she kissed his button of a nose, he let out a sleepy giggle. She kissed him again, and he, still giggling, wound his arms around her neck and gave her one of his famous sloppy kisses. In her old life, she would probably have been annoyed, perhaps even disgusted, by Teddy’s affection. Now, however, she treasured these kisses. After everything she had gone through, the boy’s genuine fondness warmed her heart. He made her feel loved, and she truly needed it. There, in his cosy room stuffed with old toys and children’s books, the world didn’t seem as cold as she had come to believe, and even if what she felt was just an illusion, she cherished it all the same.

 

Pansy pressed her lips to Teddy's forehead and said, “Come on, mister Teddy Lupin, turn on your side, close your eyes, and I’ll sing you a song.”

 

Teddy pouted again and pointed at the door.

 

Pansy sighed. “Papa will come a little later today,” she explained. “He went to check on your grandma. But he will kiss you good night the moment he comes home, I promise.”

 

Teddy sighed, but nodded and lay down. Pansy tucked him in, dimmed the light, and began to sing.

_One brings Sorrow_

_Two bring Joy_

_Three a Girl_

_And Four a Boy_

_Five bring Want_

_And Six bring Gold_

_Seven bring secrets never told_

_Eight bring wishing_

_Nine bring kissing_

_Ten, the love my own heart's missing!_

By the time she finished the song, Teddy was fast asleep. Standing up, she whispered, “Good night,” and left the room, quietly closing the door.

 

Since it was only around eight o’clock, she decided to wait for Remus. Before he had left this morning, he had told her that he was going to visit his mother-in-law in St. Mungo’s and would be late. It had been the first time he mentioned Teddy’s grandmother, but, as usual, he hadn’t offered any details. To be honest, Pansy felt a bit disappointed that Remus was still so secretive. Even though he had been much more communicative in the past ten days, he hadn’t said much about Teddy’s mother or grandmother, keeping their talks focused on their everyday life. _Baby steps,_ she thought. Maybe, since he’d mentioned where he was going, tonight would be the right time to ask some questions that niggled her curiosity.

 

Going in the kitchen, she put the kettle on, lit the fire, and perched on a windowsill. The wand that Remus had offered her, on that wretched day, had given her a hard time in the beginning. At first, it had felt so foreign in her hand that she had wondered if something was wrong with her magic. Remus, however, had urged her to take things slowly. His advice had worked. In the course of six days, she’d learned how to manage the wand, as if it had warmed up to her or something. In any case, it was working almost perfectly now, making her deliriously happy every time a spell succeeded. She literally had danced around the room the first few times it had happened, and she would have punched anyone who suggested that she was behaving like a fool. Three years without a wand would drive any witch or wizard nuts, her reaction was perfectly understandable. It’s just, her prolonged existence without magic had simply made her acutely aware of all the things she had previously taken for granted.

 

She had recently come much aware of Remus. First of all, he had saved her!

 

He. Had. Saved. Her.

 

Yes, she felt grateful, of course, but it was more than that, much more. She couldn’t forget how safe she had felt being in his arms when he had stopped that bloody fucker Reggie. When he had clutched and held her face in his hands, telling her that she would be home by supper, she had believed him. There had been so much determination in his eyes, he hadn’t left her room for any doubts. And then he had appeared at the Ministry, like a white knight. He had come for her. She would never forget that, or the way he had kept her hand clasped in his. _It felt so good._ She had to admit that she had gone a bit bonkers. She had spent so much time watching him over the past week. It was a little crazy. The wizard wasn’t her type, for Salazar’s sake, and he was a werewolf, and only-Merlin-knows how many years her senior. And yet she liked him. In a mere ten days, she had managed to develop a full-blown crush on him. Now, how fucking stupid was that?

 

It wasn't that he had suddenly become attractive. Not at all. He was still the same skinny, gloomy, shabbily-dressed. (Though now, with a wand in her possession, she had been discreetly fixing his wardrobe as much as she could.) But there was something about the way he smiled that made her heart skip a few beats. The small crinkles around his eyes, the softness of his voice, the amber flecks that sometimes appeared when he looked at her … all those things made her go soft inside, and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Naturally, she understood that it was an idiotic idea. Alas, her heart paid her mind no attention. Remus had swept her off her feet with his insane rescue mission. No one had ever saved her before. She wasn’t the type that attracted brave knights in shining armour. Maybe she had gone overboard, but she was sure all those princesses had felt the exact same way she did right now.

 

Alas, her feelings were probably doomed. For a start, she was his employee. He also would probably never be able to overcome the fact that she had been his student, because he was one of those wizards with morals and other silly things, and he still wasn’t over his ex, whatever had happened to her. That fact was painfully obvious.

 

Turning off the kettle, which had been boiling for a while now, she made herself a cup of tea, took a biscuit, and went to the living room. There, she settled in an armchair near the fireplace, picked up a mystery, and began to read. Sometimes, there was no better distraction from an unrequited crush than a good book. Of course, she couldn’t call herself a bookworm, but she enjoyed well-written fiction now and then.

 

Three hours later, the book was finished, but there was no Remus in sight. _So much for talking and asking questions,_ she thought. Returning the book to the shelf, she checked on Teddy, who was peacefully asleep, and, for lack of other options, went to her room. Well, at least tomorrow was Sunday, and her birthday. She didn’t expect anything, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to do something nice for herself. Perhaps other members of the household would be pleasantly surprised as well.

 

**_The Shadow of Your Smile_ **

****

The Leaky Cauldron was noisy and crowded this evening, as per usual on a Saturday night. Luckily, Remus had found a quiet spot in a far corner, where no one would bother him. He had been sitting there for three hours, and he was only on his second glass of Firewhisky. The idea had been to get drunk, but he wasn’t in the right mood, so he just sipped his drink, allowing worries to run through his mind.

 

It was normal for him to feel melancholy after visiting Andromeda in St. Mungo’s, but today, after a long talk with her Healer, he was more puzzled than depressed. Healer Tibald had said that if something did not change very soon, they could lose her, and that he had exhausted all his remedies and was only trying to keep her alive. None of this was news to Remus. Tibald had been saying as much for weeks now. However, when Tibald had said that Kingsley Shacklebolt had visited his mother-in-law twice in the last ten days, Remus was baffled. He knew that Kingsley and Andromeda had known each other at Hogwarts, but that was all. They had never seemed especially friendly. His talk with Kingsley, however, had given him the impression that Kingsley had been determined to help him with St. Mungo’s. Remus had mulled over it for about an hour, but hadn’t come to any sensible conclusion, and his thoughts eventually moved onto other topics.

 

Andromeda’s health hadn't been the only reason that brought him to the Leaky Cauldron that evening. He had to admit that the strongest reason for his being there was Pansy. It wasn't that he was hiding from her. Of course not. Simply put – so much had changed in the past week or so that he had to have a moment of peace to sort out his thoughts. The occurrences of that hellish day when she had been attacked, and the story that she had told him afterward, all of it had left him with his emotions in utter disarray. Somehow, he felt responsible, as if it had been he who had failed her. No matter how little sense it made, he couldn’t shake that feeling of guilt. After seeing her crying and thrashing in the Auror’s hands, and then scared and broken on the floor at the Ministry, the need to keep her safe took hold of his heart and didn’t let go.

 

As he had promised himself in the Minister’s office, he had spent the week trying to make her life better. He had begun by helping her with the wand. She had thought that she had lost her magic, but the teacher in him knew exactly how to reassure her. Her first working spell had been the beginning of their success, followed by shopping together and learning a few wandless spells. Well, shopping couldn’t be considered his forte, since Pansy was much more proficient in that area. But he’d kept her safe.

 

Fortunately, his plan had worked, and in a few days, he’d noticed that she’d begun to smile more often. Remus had even seen her dancing in the living-room, which made him feel both accomplished and oddly disconcerted. She’d looked so lovely. How he’d managed not to notice her in the previous three weeks was beyond him now. All this time, she’d been right there, in front of him, with her statuesque figure, her eyes the colour of dark chocolate, and that sharp tongue of hers. Remus had to admit that she had quite a personality, and he liked it. He caught himself watching her and thinking about her often, perhaps too often, which bothered him. But, she was always around, and the way she looked at him, smiled at him, trusted him made him feel like … a man, a protector. He’d forgotten how it felt to be the centre of a woman’s attention, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to go down that road again. He wasn't ready for this kind of situation. He didn’t appreciate the way his eyes and his heart seemingly worked in tandem, completely ignoring his common sense. That was precisely why he had been sitting in the Leaky Cauldron on his own on a Saturday night for three hours straight.

 

Then, there was also the question of Pansy’s new wardrobe. Tomorrow was her birthday. He knew that she didn’t expect anything, as she didn’t know that he was aware of that information. It was a teacher thing: he still knew everyone's birthdays, even those of the ones who weren’t around any more. After a long debate with himself, he came to the conclusion that he would buy her a new robe and shoes. It seemed a bit strange at first, but he didn’t want her to spend her own money. Also, he couldn’t come up with a way to approach the subject of her wearing stolen goods without making her feel like a criminal, and decided to skip that talk altogether.

 

As it happened, the mother of one of his pupils owned a small clothing atelier, and everything worked out almost perfectly. He worried about size and colour, of course, but the shopkeeper reassured him that everything could be altered, even the shoes. That was an advantage of shopping in a Wizarding shop. Thank Merlin that the witch didn’t ask any uncomfortable questions, because Remus wasn’t sure that he could have handled them well. Anyway, everything had been done in a timely manner, and he’d picked up the order earlier today. Now that the big brown paper bag with the robe and boots inside was on the bench near him, he began having second thoughts about the whole idea, but it was too late to change his mind now, no matter how uncertain he felt.

 

 _Perhaps,_ he thought, I can ask Teddy to give her the present. Remus slapped his forehead. _Yes, of course!_ Smiling, he nodded and finished his Firewhisky. The idea was perfect. Teddy loved her, and a gift presented by a child would eliminate all the awkwardness. Still smiling, Remus picked up the bag and left the bar.

 

 _Tomorrow will be an interesting day,_ he told himself before Apparating home from the back alley. _Very interesting indeed._       

 

 


	6. Whipped Cream

**Outsiders**

_We've seen some change_

_But we're still outsiders_

_(The Outsiders/Frantz Ferdinand)_

 

**VI**

**_Whipped Cream_ **

****

Next morning, at seven o’clock, Pansy was already in the kitchen. Her baking decision had been made weeks ago. Two words – fairy cakes. They had been an essential part of her birthday celebrations for as long as she could remember, a true classic in her house. If she closed her eyes, the memories of those happy mornings when she had been awoken by the smell of vanilla filled her mind. Her mum had kept the tradition going even after Pansy had gone to Hogwarts, and although it hadn’t been as nice as birthdays at home, a box of freshly-baked fairy cakes had been a welcome present right until the beginning of the war, when the world around her had exploded.

 

The memory of the Slytherin boys, always on the lookout for the pastry-box as her birthday approached, made Pansy smile, and then made her feel melancholic. They had all been so carefree then, so unaware of what lay ahead. She chuckled, recalling how Blaise would do her homework for a week in exchange for a few cakes. The poor guy's mother never sent him anything homemade. In the end, he'd been luckier than most of them, since he hadn’t been thrown into Azkaban, thanks to his mother's connections, of course. Pansy would have happily given up all the pastries in the world to save herself from Azkaban. Alas, no one had ever offered. Apparently, it didn’t work that way. Her eyes began to water as the memories engulfed her. In irritation, she decided to focus on the task at hand. It was her birthday, for Salazar’s sake. It definitely wasn’t the right time for such nonsense as melancholy musings.

 

In her school days, she’d had no clue (and, to be honest, no desire) how to make her favourite cakes. Her priorities had been finding a rich husband and making connections, not cooking and baking. Alas, life hadn’t worked out as she had imagined. Oh, well, if nothing else, during her three months in the bakery she had learned tons of recipes, and luckily, one of them had been for fairy cakes.

 

A few days ago, on a shopping trip with Remus, she had bought all the necessary ingredients. So this morning, she had everything ready, and after she got the range going, she began the preparations. It wasn’t the most complicated process she had learned, but as with most old recipes, the batter had to be mixed by hand. Somehow, magic wasn’t useful for that kind of thing. Combining the ingredients in the bowl, she began to mix them, gradually increasing her speed. The sun was coming up, and the kitchen was filled with that special shimmering light of early morning. There was something peaceful in making the batter, and she began to hum a long-forgotten tune. That was how Remus found her. His ‘Good morning’ startled her, and she dropped the spatula, which, of course, flew out of her hand and fell down onto the floor, splashing the batter everywhere. _Shite_ _!_ she thought, feeling her cheeks grow hot. She hated it when she blushed. Slytherins were not supposed to blush, for Merlin's sake.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Remus said, picking up the spatula.

 

“You didn’t,” she said, trying to clear away the mess created by the flying spatula. Of course, right at that moment, the wand decided to misbehave, probably because its real owner was so close. “Did I wake you up?” she asked, seeing that it was only seven-thirty. _Bloody seven_ _-_ _thirty! On Sunday! Honestly, what’s wrong with this wizard!_ she thought, and said, “Was I too loud?”

 

“No, no, no,” He shook his head, still holding the spatula and obviously having no idea what to do with it. “It’s just … the smell. I love the smell of vanilla.” He slowly inhaled and closed his eyes.

 

Unable to look away from his face, Pansy saw his nostrils flare. Somehow, the sight of him there in his pyjamas, with his eyes closed and his nostrils flaring, made her body react in a variety of unexpected ways. She wouldn’t say that it awakened the butterflies in her (just because she fucking loathed that saying) but, bloody hell, something definitely had begun to flutter somewhere. Her fingertips began to itch: she wanted to trace his jawline and his slightly-open mouth so badly, and the fact that he was still in his pyjamas didn’t help. By the time he opened his eyes, she felt hot all over, and it wasn’t because the range was blazing. Still, she couldn't help noticing that the colour of his eyes seemed different.

 

“Your eyes,” she said. “They are more amber today.”

 

He nodded. “It's getting closer to full moon,” he explained, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

 

“Oh.” Not appreciating the sudden change of atmosphere, she turned to another subject. “Would you like to help?” she said brightly, and batted her eyelashes at him just in case.

 

Remus, obviously surprised, blinked a few times, shifted from one foot to another, and finally said, “Well … yes … of course.”

 

“I’ll clean this then.” She took the spatula from his hand and washed it. “Here, you can continue mixing the batter while I get the tins ready,” she ordered.

 

Remus readily took the spatula from her and, though still looking a bit perplexed, followed her orders. After a few particularly awkward moments, when they bumped into each other and blushed, they eventually found their rhythm and started to work in tandem, filling the tins. The awkwardness yielded to the cosy feeling of Sunday morning, and although every casual touch sent a wave of heat down Pansy’s spine, she decided to ignore the sensation. At least for now.

 

When the first batch of cakes was in the oven, and they sat down to rest, Remus asked, “ So, what kind of cakes are those?”

 

Pansy stifled the urge to roll her eyes. “Fairy cakes,” she said, and noticing his complete lack of recognition, added, “Please don’t tell me you’ve never tried them.”

 

“Well, maybe I have,” he said. “I just can’t recall.” The defiance in his eyes made him look younger than usual.

 

“Yeah, right.” This time, she did roll her eyes. “I doubt anyone can forget fairy cakes after trying them.”

 

Remus shrugged. “And may I ask what's the occasion?” he asked, focusing his gaze on her, and Pansy thought that there was a mischievous flicker in his eyes.

 

The question caught her off-guard, and she muttered, sounding extremely unconvincing even to herself, “Because …well, just because, and it’s Sunday.”

 

“Hmm, I see,” he said, with a small impish smile.

 

She’d had no idea that he could smile like that. “What?” Pansy narrowed her eyes.

 

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Oh, and I think the cakes are ready.” He pointed at the range.

 

“Oh shite!” She hurriedly removed the cakes from the oven, and put another batch inside.

 

The sweet scent filled the kitchen. “Mmm, they smell so good.” Once again, he inhaled deeply, this time throwing his head back, leaving her with a view of his neck and collarbone. She could see several scars, but the only thing she could focus on was his pulse point. Oh, how she wanted to press her lips to that spot. Merlin, what was wrong with her today?

 

“All right, it’s time to whip the cream,” she muttered, forcing herself to stop staring at the wizard. She really couldn’t explain what was going on with her.

 

“Whip the cream?” The news caught Remus’ interest.

 

“Don’t tell me that you don’t know what that is?” Pansy said, arching her eyebrow.

 

“As a matter of fact, I do know what whipped cream is. Actually, I'm very partial to it.”

 

“You are? Wait a minute … I know. You’ve got a sweet tooth, haven’t you?”

 

Remus nodded. “Guilty as charged,” he said, blushing faintly. “I do like sweets. They're the easiest way to instant gratification.”

 

“Well, that makes two of us,” she said. Somehow, the thought of a grown-up wizard with a soft spot for sweets seemed funny to her. “All right, since you said you were partial to it – you whip the cream, and I'll prepare the cakes for decoration.”

 

He chuckled and saluted. “On it.”

 

It transpired that he knew how to whip the cream, and Pansy caught herself on stealing glances at him and wondering where he had acquired that particular skill.

 

“Where did you learn that?” she said, watching the precise movements of his hands.

 

“I had a friend … many, many years ago. She taught me,” he explained quietly.

 

Immediately regretting her question, she saw that his face had returned to its habitual pensive expression. Inwardly cursing herself for asking, Pansy frantically tried to find something to distract him. It was her birthday, and she wanted to have happy people around. Was that too much to ask?

 

“I think it’s ready,” she declared. “Let me taste it?”

 

He stopped and extended his arm, so that she could taste the whipped cream from the whisk. She licked it and hummed, “Mmm,” closing her eyes for a bit of dramatic effect. When she opened them, Remus’s gaze was locked on her lips.

 

“It’s perfect. Try it,” she said. Slowly dipping her index finger into the cream, she raised it to his face. She knew that she was playing a dangerous game, but she wanted to erase that sadness from his eyes. After a moment's hesitation, he leaned towards her, took her hand in his, and, bringing it closer to his lips, wrapped his mouth around the tip of her finger. The warmth of his lips and the intensity of his gaze made her almost forget how to breathe. Her heart was doing somersaults, and it felt both scary and wonderful. She didn’t know how long they stood like that, staring at each other. But when she felt his tongue touching her finger, she gasped and reached for his face with her other hand, but stopped a half-inch before touching him. Remus leaned into her touch, and she caressed his unshaved cheek. The wizard closed his eyes, as his lips slid over her finger and down her palm.

 

“Remus,” she whispered and stepped closer, at the same moment noticing that Teddy was in the doorway, eyeing them with a huge smile.

 

She hastily stepped back and exclaimed with a nervous laugh, “Teddy, good morning!”

 

Remus let go of her hand, spun around, and picked his son up, saying, “Good morning, mate.”

 

Teddy giggled, looking at Pansy, at Remus, and then at Pansy again. Remus kissed his cheek and said, “You sneaked up on us, you little mouse.”

 

Still giggling, Teddy nodded and then looked around. Noticing the bowl with whipped cream, he pointed at it. Remus shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to try this before breakfast.” Teddy frowned and pointed at the bowl again, this time more forcefully.

 

“Well, he probably just saw you tasting it, you know, and before breakfast, no less,” Pansy quietly pointed out, arching her eyebrow at the wizard.

 

“Yes, probably.” Remus cleared his throat. “Oh well, I guess it’s only fair,” he said and let the boy dip his fingers in the cream. “So, is it tasty?" Teddy, still licking his fingers, enthusiastically bobbed his head. Remus let him dip into the cream once again, and his whole face was covered in cream now. Pansy couldn’t help snorting.

 

“I think someone will need to wash his face after this degustation, and I have an inkling it’s going to happen sooner rather than later.” She gazed at Remus. “What do you think?”

 

Remus opened his mouth trying to say something, but Teddy bent down, scooped another dollop of the cream, and tossed it into his father’s mouth, spreading it all over Remus' face in the process.

 

Pansy began to laugh at Teddy's antics. He was one mischievous lad, and for a minute, Pansy wondered if he took after his father. She had never seen that side of her former Professor. Yet.

 

“I think we'll both need a good wash after this,” Remus said, having managed to swallow the cream. “All right, mate, let’s go clean up.” He put Teddy on the floor and took his hand. “We’ll be back.” He smiled at Pansy and ran down the corridor with his son.

 

“All right. I’ll wait for you.” Pansy chuckled and began cutting out the tops of the cakes, all the while wondering what would have happened if Teddy hadn’t shown up. Her imagination ran wild, drawing pictures of Remus holding her face in his hands, caressing her lips with his thumb, kissing her. Distracted by these fantasies, she almost burned the second batch of cakes. Thank Merlin, the sound of footsteps brought her musings to a stop, and she took the cakes out just as Remus and Teddy walked into the kitchen. She noticed that they had both changed into their regular clothes (though she did prefer Remus in his pyjamas), and that Teddy was carrying a big brown bag.

 

“What is it?” she asked, somehow feeling curious and nervous simultaneously.

 

Remus took the bag from Teddy and offered it to her. “Your birthday present. Happy Birthday!”

 

For a moment, Pansy couldn’t speak. She just looked from the bag to Remus and Teddy and back again. “But … how?” she said at last.

 

Remus' face lit up with one of those smiles she couldn’t handle, when the crinkles around his eyes appeared and all his face beamed with kindness. “It’s a teacher thing.”

 

“A teacher thing,” she repeated after him and took the bag. “I … mm … I need a minute. I’ll be right back,” she whispered and ran to her room.

 

Once there, she carefully put the bag on her bed and sat down. She didn’t want to cry. Really, the last thing she wanted to do on her birthday was crying, but her eyes had a different agenda. It was idiotic to weep over a birthday present, and yet here she was, doing just that. It was all Remus’ fault, of course. He was the one who made her cry, making her feel sad and happy and so bloody confused. Merlin, it would have been so much easier if she’d hated him …

 

A knock on her door made her jump. “Are you all right?” Remus sounded worried.

 

“Yes, yes, I am. Just give me a second.” She heard him draw in a sigh and walk away.

 

Wiping her tears and blowing her nose, she slowly inhaled the fragrant air. (It smelled of fairy cakes.) Then she opened the bag, and found a warm beige robe and chocolate-brown lace-up boots. Caressing the soft robe, she felt the tears threatening to start again, but drove them away by inhaling deeply.

 

He'd done it again. The bloody wizard had once again left her completely smitten. Even if that robe wasn’t the most fashionable one, and the boots weren’t the most expensive ones she had worn in her life, they were still her first present from a grown-up wizard. Ugh, who she was kidding? They were her first present from any wizard. Full stop. It had never come to it. The boys she had known at Hogwarts had been just that – boys. They had been mostly interested in sex. Well, to be fair, everyone had been mostly interested in sex at that time. Then the war had happened, and then – Azkaban.

 

Her hands shook while she unbuttoned her ugly grey robe, but she managed. The new robe fitted her perfectly and felt heavenly. Before throwing the old one in the bottom drawer of the dresser, she checked the pockets and found the receipt for her mother’s ring. _Merlin_ , she thought. So much had happened during the last month that she had almost forgotten about the ring. Carefully folding the receipt, she hid it in the new pocket. After putting on the boots, she looked at herself in the mirror and almost began crying again. She looked … normal. Only her hair still reminded her of Azkaban, but apart from that, she finally felt like a human being again.

 

This time, she didn’t allow herself to cry. She’d had enough of that for one day, let alone her birthday. She forced herself to smile at her reflection and walked out the door, though her eyes were still watery and her throat felt scratchy. Remus and Teddy were sitting in the kitchen, patiently waiting for her, though she could see that Teddy’s patience was connected to the number of treats around him.

 

When she came in, Remus stood up. “Did it fit all r-” He fell silent, while staring at her.

 

Leaning on the doorframe, because his gaze was suddenly too much for her, she quietly said, “Everything is perfect. Thank you.”

 

Remus cleared his throat. “You look ... You look beautiful.”

 

“Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

 

“You're welcome,” he said, still staring at her.

 

Teddy, who had just finished another cake, decided it was time to fill the cakes with the whipped cream, took a spoon, and was about to dip it, when Pansy caught his chubby arm, saying, “Oh no, mister, no messing with my fairy cakes.” He began to laugh, making them laugh as well and scaring all awkwardness away from the kitchen.

 

About an hour later, the fairy cakes had been filled with raspberry jam and cream. The wings were put on top of them, and icing sugar was lightly dusted over … the whole kitchen, courtesy of Teddy, of course. But looking at his happy little face and his bright orange hair, Pansy decided that everything was absolutely worth it.

 

Their breakfast gradually turned into lunch. After that, they ran around the house, playing hide and seek with Teddy. While he had his nap, Remus insisted that she needed to rest and cooked the stew for dinner. Surprised, Pansy agreed and spent an hour reading, and then they had a nice meal. Around eight o’clock, Teddy went to bed and Remus stayed in his room for about an hour, reading to him. He then came out and said that Teddy was demanding to see her. When she entered, he was already half asleep. She knew that he wanted his song, and she began to sing, and of course, he was fast asleep even before she finished the first verse.

 

When she turned to leave the room, she found herself looking at Remus, who had stayed, it seemed, to listen to her song.

 

“You have a beautiful voice,” he whispered.

 

She crossed the threshold and closed the door, leaving only about a foot between them.

 

“Thank you,” she said. "Thank you again for everything. This day … it was …”

 

“Magical,” he whispered.

 

“Yes,” she nodded, “thanks to you.”

 

Remus began to shake his head, but before he could say anything, Pansy wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips.

 

 


End file.
